


Lost Leave

by Alethia



Series: Lost Leave [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Day Off, F/M, First Meetings, First Time, One Night Stands, Oops I Fucked My Commanding Officer, Porn, Pre-Season/Series 02, Shore Leave, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 06:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19420669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "Don't worry, this isn't about love. It's about getting you laid."It startled a laugh from Michael, beyond ridiculous. Then she actuallylookedat Tilly. "Wait, what?""Sex, Michael. You should have it. No-strings, anonymous, marathon sex with a hotass man. That's what you need right now."





	Lost Leave

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda love "oops, I fucked my commanding officer" stories and so here we are. Set before season 2 starts. I think the timeline works? Also, in watching 2.01 it feels like the catastrophic damage to the _Enterprise_ that came from nowhere was meant to be paid-off, like if Gabrielle had been the one to cause it. I offer that plot bunny to a good home. Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1034072.html).

"I hardly think that's necessary, Saru," Michael protested, spine stiff. 

Saru looked at her evenly, like he expected this and wasn't at all surprised. "I disagree. And as your acting-captain, it's my decision to make," he returned reasonably. 

"Just because I haven't taken any leave doesn't mean there's a problem."

Saru's expression softened into something more concerned. "It's been months, Michael. You've been working straight through for months and I don't need to tell you how traumatic what we've experienced has been. You need to let yourself rest."

Michael didn't think it was possible, but she stiffened further. "I get eight hours of rest a night. That's perfectly adequate for my needs."

"I'm not talking about sleep; you need to _rest_."

Michael shifted. "I fail to see the distinction."

"Yes, I suspected you might. That's why I'm ordering you to take your forty-eight. No work, no thoughts of work, don't even think about thinking about work. Just relax and enjoy yourself."

"I enjoy my work," she tried, one last time.

"And you excel at it. But there is more to life than work, Michael. I am concerned you've forgotten that fact."

Michael had nothing to say to that.

***

"Okay, don't hate me, but maybe he's right?" Tilly said, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. They were on their lunch break, the mess crowded, but they'd managed to claim one of the small tables for themselves. 

"He's—there's nothing wrong with enjoying one's work," Michael said, hearing the defensiveness in her own voice. 

"And he didn't say there was," Tilly said, reasonable. "But ever since the Terrans and Lorca and Tyler, you've been kind of...throwing yourself into it."

"My work makes sense." 

Tilly softened a little. "I know. It's all black and white, with a right answer. Not messy at all like people." She paused, watching Michael with sympathy. "But that doesn't mean you can ignore people."

Michael gestured between them, illustrative. "I hardly think I'm ignoring people."

"It only counts when you have a choice and as everyone knows, I am a force of nature. But with others? Come on, you've totally been hiding. And to be clear, I don't blame you. If my boyfriend turned out to be a Klingon spy and then called me a coward for breaking up with him, sheesh. I'd avoid people, too."

Michael defiantly sipped at her tea, not wanting to think about any of that. "This isn't about Ash."

"You sure?"

"What does that mean?"

"Okay, look, you know I love you," Tilly said in that tone of voice Michael _hated_ because it meant Tilly was about to say something she wouldn't like. "But ever since Tyler, you've been in this protective shell, hunkered down where no one can get to you."

"That's not—I haven't been doing anything differently."

"You won't come out for drinks with us, you spend all your free time doing extra work—" 

"I'm busy."

"You're _making_ yourself busy. And you've been going out of your way to avoid anyone who might want to date you. I heard about that thing with Saito."

Michael opened her mouth to respond...and then closed it again. Tilly wasn't entirely wrong about that. She'd known that Saito was working his way up to asking her out and she'd cut him off at the knees. He wasn't a bad guy, just the thought of it was...too much. 

Tilly saw her stop arguing and nodded, approving. "Exactly. And to be clear, I _get it_. You loved Ash and he ripped your heart out and stomped it into little pieces, then chucked those in a meat grinder, just for good measure. Anyone would feel betrayed."

"But..." Michael prompted, knowing it was coming. 

"But he doesn't get to ruin any shot you have at love. He's not worth it."

Something inside Michael _ached_. She knew what Tilly was saying—she deserved love, was worthy of it, all that—and intellectually she agreed. But her instinct rebelled. Why open yourself up to this kind of pain? It was illogical in the extreme. 

"I can't even imagine falling in love again," she admitted, soft.

Tilly's hand dropped onto hers, warm and supportive. "I know. And as enraged as that makes me, I do understand that we're in baby steps territory here. So don't worry, this isn't about love. It's about getting you laid." 

It startled a laugh from Michael, beyond ridiculous. Then she actually _looked_ at Tilly. "Wait, what?"

"Sex, Michael. You should have it. No-strings, anonymous, marathon sex with a hotass man. That's what you need right now."

"That is not what Saru meant."

"Let's ask him," Tilly said instantly, like she actually _would_. "I bet he'd agree with me."

Michael shot her a quelling look. "We are not talking to my acting-captain about my sex life."

"Killjoy." 

Michael measured her words: "Look, I understand that some kind of...fling might be attractive to some people, but I don't do that."

"You should," Tilly said instantly. "You need to move on."

Michael stiffened as she realized where this conversation was headed. "I don't even know what that means."

Tilly sighed, eyes sympathetic, but unwavering. "You haven't been with anyone since Ash. The last sex you had, and probably the most consequential of your life, is all tied up with sadness and betrayal and attempted murder. Break that association, Michael. Not every guy is Tyler; not every relationship is tragic. Sometimes it can just be fun."

"I disagree with your premise." Michael kept it light, carefully not engaging with what Tilly was truly _saying_. Because if she did she'd have to think about Ash, and everything that came with that...and she didn't want to. 

"You really don't, but I know you need to think about it, so I'll leave you with this: after what we've been through, you deserve a little pleasure. No, a lot of pleasure. _All_ the pleasure. Let yourself have it. Seriously, it does wonders for the soul."

***

Saru was apparently quite serious when he ordered her on leave. He sent official paperwork and everything, informing her she would be taking forty-eight hours of leave while the _Discovery_ resupplied at Starbase 5. 

And if the paperwork said it was so...

Michael dressed in her civilian clothes and packed a bag, intent on spending her time reading. While Saru could make her leave the _Discovery_ , he couldn't control what she did when she was gone. She had archives of research papers to get through and nothing but time to do it. Simple.

And Tilly's suggestion...well, that didn't even bear consideration.

Once Michael had taken up residence in her temporary quarters, she found she was hungry, so she made her way to the nearest restaurant—a boisterous affair with a long bar in the middle, surrounded by high tables where people sat and ate, drank, laughed. It was a bit much for Michael's taste, but the food smelled good...and she didn't have to stay long. 

She found an empty table and perched there, smiling as a waiter came to take her order. Michael took in the crowd as she waited. It was comprised of the usual eclectic mix of Federation species—human, Acamarian, Bolian, Andorian, Tellarite, etc.—a scattered few in uniform, the majority made up of merchants, travelers, and diplomats. The last, Michael could spot instantly, forever wearing that carefully neutral expression she knew so well. 

As her eyes slid over the crowd, Michael noticed another lone traveler sitting at the bar. Her gaze paused at him, though she couldn't say why. He was dressed casually—dark pants, light blue shirt, dark jacket—his dark hair peppered with gray. When he sensed eyes on him, he looked up, startlingly blue eyes meeting hers. She instantly looked away, something unsettled seizing up inside her. 

He was _handsome_ , she realized. That was what caught her attention. She'd _noticed_. 

Tilly's words came back to her— _no strings, anonymous, marathon sex with a hotass man_ —and Michael shifted in her seat, wishing that Tilly hadn't gone there. Because now Michael _was_ considering it, which was especially annoying when she didn't even enjoy casual sex. Most of her assignations had fallen into that category, none of them memorable, and from what she gathered, many men weren't particularly skilled at it, anyway. But Tilly had brought it up and now here Michael was, noticing compelling strangers in bars like that was a thing she did. 

Ridiculous. 

Thankfully, that was when the waiter returned with her salad and tea. Michael turned her attention to the food, carefully ignoring the heat pulsing under skin. 

It didn't matter, she decided. It was best forgotten. 

***

...and yet, she still found herself watching him throughout the meal. Against her will, her eyes would stray to him, then move away once she caught herself. 

He seemed to have taken up residence at the bar, though he wasn't drinking heavily. He sipped at the same drink the whole time—something amber, no ice. 

People kept approaching him. Women, mostly, those who had clearly seen what Michael did—he really was very handsome—and decided to proposition him. 

A quiet part of Michael's mind questioned how such a conversation would go. Purely out of morbid curiosity, of course. After all, how _did_ you ask a perfect stranger for sex? She would ask Tilly...but then Tilly would _answer_ and Michael didn't think she had the fortitude for that.

Whatever you were supposed to say, apparently none of the women approaching the object of her fascination had it down, either. One after the next, he sent them away again, though oddly, most of them left smiling. The same thing happened with the few men who approached him. And those of indeterminate gender. 

He had attracted a fair bit of attention, though he didn't seem to want to socialize at all. Michael marveled a little. Why sit and drink alone at a busy bar, no interest in anyone's company?

But...right. She was supposed to be putting him out of her mind. 

Michael returned her eyes to her salad, clocking that she was eating quite slowly tonight. 

What a surprise.

***

"Enough!"

It wasn't so much the word as the tone that made Michael look away from her nearly-finished salad, eyes landing on what looked to be a drunken confrontation. A Tellarite merchant was in the face of an Andorian trader who wasn't backing down, so it had likely become a matter of honor in his inebriated mind. 

"Apologize," the Andorian growled, expression grimly furious. 

The Tellarite laughed, gruff and mocking. "Look at that, the blue demon can't handle a little truth. I bet you—"

The Andorian swung at him, wide and sloppy, and Michael was instantly out of her seat, striding over just as the Tellarite roared and moved to strike—

And her compelling stranger hooked his arm, using momentum to swing him around and plant him chest first against the bar, arm wrenched behind his back. He stepped in, speaking into the Tellarite's ear, low. 

The controlled movement made something flutter within Michael, but she couldn't focus on it, not when the Andorian was moving forward to pursue the matter. Michael stepped in front of him and firmly shoved him back. "You don't want to do that," she said, evenly. 

"He is an uncouth boar who deserves to have some manners knocked into him," the Andorian protested, his consonants slipping with drink, antenna twitching in anger. 

"And you're under the influence. Or do you truly believe this is an honorable fight?" Michael asked. 

That calmed him right down, Andorian notions of honor overriding whatever the offense was. He settled, spine straightening as he gestured to the Tellarite, still pressed up against the bar, but clearly calming as Michael's stranger talked him down. "That menace should be kept away from civilized society."

"Thank you for that input. I suggest you spend the rest of your evening elsewhere."

The Andorian huffed and stalked off, leaving Michael to turn and watch as the stranger released the Tellarite and stepped back. The Tellarite shook himself, gathering what little dignity he could, dismissive eyes sweeping over the stranger, then the whole bar. "This establishment isn't worth a warm bucket of spit." And with that thought, he stormed off.

The stranger watched him go, smiling a little. He looked back at Michael, blue eyes amused. "Tellarites," he said, deadpan, like that explained everything...and in a way, it did, the species well-known for its aggressively confrontational insults. 

Michael smiled back, equally amused, that fluttering inside intensifying now that they were in each other's orbit. He was even more striking up close, strong jaw and perfect cheekbones accompanying those startling eyes. Michael didn't consider herself shallow, but she also couldn't shake the sheer _focus_ of her want. 

She suddenly wished she knew how to express interest, just to...see. That she even wanted to was a surprise, but maybe Tilly's talk had landed deeper than she knew. Or maybe all it took was a handsome man acting to defuse situations and protect others. 

But...what _did_ you say? 

It was just verging on awkward when the female Bolian bartender stepped up, leaning over a little to address both of them. "Another round for you two for making my life easier," she said, jovially setting drinks on the bar. 

The stranger stepped to the bar, holding up a hand. Even his hands were attractive, Michael noticed. "That's really not necessary."

"Just take the drink and say 'thank you,'" the Bolian shot back lightly, getting a flash of a smile.

He took the drink and tipped it toward her, amusement clear. "Thank you."

Michael didn't protest, stepping up to take the cold tea as the stranger turned to her, friendly. "Well, if we've stopped a bar fight together, I suppose we should know each other's names. Chris," he said, holding out a hand. 

Michael smiled a little at the old-fashioned formality, shaking his hand, a small part of her taking interest in the strength there. "Michael."

Chris settled against the bar, swirling his drink casually. "You know, they say getting in the middle of a bar fight is a great way to get dead."

"I never was very good at self-preservation."

Chris quirked another little smile. He really was unfairly good-looking. "To hell with life expectancy," he said, light. 

Michael shrugged it off. "Everything's dangerous in a certain context. That shouldn't stop us from doing what's right."

Something about that caught Chris' interest. He took her in, measuring. In a blink it was gone and he was back to friendly chitchat, sipping his drink. "And what brings you to Starbase 5, Michael?"

"I have a couple days off. You?"

"I accompanied a friend here for medical treatment, but I'm on vacation, too." There was something complex underneath that simple statement, but Michael had no idea how to get into it. 

Still, it seemed rude not to inquire a little further. "Is your friend okay?"

"He seems to want to keep me out of it, but I hope he will be," he said, the concern clear in his eyes.

"Well, Starfleet medical personnel are some of the best. I'm sure he's in good hands."

"Of that I have no doubt." The confidence with which he said that made her think it wasn't just a platitude. Something about it struck her, like his regard was hard-won and therefore meaningful. She wanted to know how he'd come to that conclusion. She wanted to know what he thought. 

Chris startled her out of those thoughts with a shrewd look. "You were watching me earlier."

Michael tipped her head in agreement, no use denying what they both knew well. "I was admiring your skill at turning people down."

"Are we considering that a skill?" he asked, dry. 

Michael appreciated the humor in it, flashing him a smile, but she shook her head ruefully. "It is if you don't have it."

Blue eyes studied her, not without sympathy. "Had to reject someone, did you?"

Michael's mind went back to Saito's hopeful expression slowly crumbling into disappointment. She felt mildly bad about that, but in the larger sense she felt nothing. Just exhaustion. "Something like that."

Chris seemed to catch it, intrigued. "Oh, there's a story there."

"Hardly an interesting one, I assure you. It's just—" She broke off, shaking her head. 

"What?" he asked, leaning forward a little, like he was genuinely interested. 

"Sometimes the weight of people's expectations is smothering." Michael couldn't believe she was admitting this to anyone, much less a total stranger. 

Chris nodded, almost meditative, a kind of gravity slipping into his eyes. "I get that." And something about the way he said it made Michael think he really did. She studied him, the moment holding—

And then she shook her head, moving past it. "But we were talking about bar fights."

Chris nodded with another of those quirked smiles, light and easy. "Ah, yes, that perennial mix of alcohol and overreaction. A grand tradition."

"Yet another reason I'm glad I never got a taste for drinking." Chris looked to her drink, raising an eyebrow in question. "Tea," she explained, setting it down on the bar. She left her hand there, resting beside his, their fingers barely touching. If she couldn't _say_ it...

Chris looked to her, vaguely surprised, but not in a bad way. "I didn't come here looking for this," he said after a moment. He didn't move his hand away. 

Michael's pulse picked up, her heart pounding in her ears at that non-refusal. "Neither did I."

He considered her for another moment, something weighty in the look. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. "Wanna get out of here?"

***

Michael's pounding heart accompanied her as she followed him through the decks to his quarters, nerves at war with anticipation. She had literally never done this—picked up a stranger in a bar for sex, someone she would never see again. Even the idea of it was bizarre, seeming pointless, but that thought slipped away every time she looked over at Chris, a low pulse of heat sweeping through her anew.

As he moved through the corridors, Chris seemed confident, utterly composed, like this was nothing unusual. Michael didn't know if that should be concerning or reassuring. 

She mulled it over, deciding to take the reassurance; it was probably better that one of them knew what they were doing. 

And then they were at his quarters, Michael following him in to find a suite, nicer than she had expected, given he was on vacation. She idly wondered what he did to warrant the relative extravagance. 

Chris looked back at her as he shucked his jacket, easy. "Drink?" he asked, nodding to the small in-suite bar. 

Michael stepped close. "No." Then she leaned up and kissed him, hands moving to rest on his chest. Action seemed to be working for her, so she was embracing it, hoping it would ease the way and still the nerves fluttering within her. 

Chris leaned down for her mouth, gentle arms settling around her and pulling her close. The kiss was slow, almost thoughtful, a dry brush of mouths that nonetheless sparked heat in her lips, her cheeks, traveling down to the pit of her stomach. 

Chris broke away and tilted his head, kissing her again, deeper this time, teasing her mouth open with expert skill. He knew how to do this.

Michael gave herself over to it, sliding her hands up his chest to the back of his neck, sighing into his mouth as he slipped his tongue in, exploring. 

One of his hands stroked down to the small of her back, grounding her in her body, _want_ flaring bright and hot. Michael groaned and nipped at his mouth, pressing against him more firmly. 

Chris pulled back, eyes dark. Michael tried to follow his mouth, but he evaded her, lips quirking a little. "So I was thinking I'd peel these clothes off you, touch you everywhere, eat you out, and then fuck you," he rumbled, voice like a physical caress. 

Michael _stared_ , brain fogging over with lust. Did people actually say things like that? Out loud?

Chris' expectant look shook her out of it. He actually wanted a _response_. 

She sucked in a breath, remembering that was a thing she needed to do. "Do you always outline a plan of attack before you sleep with someone?" she asked, audibly breathless.

"Communication is the most important life skill," he said easily, like this was an everyday conversation, no big deal. "Objections?" he added, genuine. "I'm flexible."

Michael very clearly thought, _I'll bet you are_ , but she kept that to herself. "That'll do."

"Excellent," he said, like it was decided and so it shall be. Then he proceeded to back her into his bedroom, move her onto his bed, and peel every article of clothing off her body, clever fingers exploring every inch of skin revealed, his mouth following, until she was a writhing, whimpering mess. 

Michael gripped a hand in his shirt as he nibbled at the base of her rib cage—an area she _hadn't even known_ was an erogenous zone—panting. 

"I have an objection," she said, voice wrecked. 

Chris stopped immediately, lifting his head to look at her. "Oh?"

Michael tugged the hand in his shirt pointedly. "I shouldn't be the only one naked."

Chris' lips quirked as he relaxed— _huh_ , she hadn't even noticed he'd tensed up—and then pushed himself away from her, to stand by the bed. He shucked his shirt easily, revealing the muscled arms and shoulders she'd been digging her fingers into. You didn't get that kind of muscle definition by accident; he clearly valued keeping himself in shape. 

And that was when Michael realized she was going to _watch him undress_. Michael flushed at the intimacy. Usually getting naked was a frantic scramble, a means to an end. No one had ever...done this, Chris smirking at her as he kicked off his shoes, stepped out of his pants, completely unselfconscious, like this was a part of the foreplay. 

As he lost his underwear, his cock hard and wanting, Michael realized maybe it _was_. She shifted, the slickness between her legs getting insistent, internal muscles already fluttering, like her body was anticipating what he'd feel like. 

Chris smirked again, like he clocked that, and then crawled back onto the bed, a smooth stretch of muscles that utterly transfixed her. "Better?" he asked, trailing light fingertips up her thigh. 

Michael could only swallow thickly and nod, pressing exploratory fingers to his chest, scratching through the hair there, feeling his heart beating under his skin. 

His smile grew as he shifted between her legs, pushing them wider, making a space for himself. 

Michael flushed, suddenly open and exposed, aware of how _wet_ she was, that she could _smell_ herself—

Chris made a hungry noise and bent his head, mouth finding her wetness and lapping there, then moving up through her slick folds to trace his tongue around her clit. 

_Fire_ burst through Michael, nerve endings all lighting up at once. She made some kind of surprised noise even as her mind reminded her that he'd promised to eat her out, she should have expected this. 

She was _completely_ unprepared for the reality of Chris' tongue flicking against her, fingers delving inside her, filling her up, the pleasure of it just this side of too much. How he knew just how to touch her was a mystery, something her mind could not fathom, consumed as it was with all the _heat_ and _good_ and _more_. All she could do was moan and rub herself against him, her internal muscles already clenching around the two fingers he had inside her. 

"I'm ready," she muttered, voice shaking. "You can—I'm ready—please," she insisted, hand gripping in his hair. Michael looked down at him, catching the speculative gleam to his eyes right before he ducked his head again, tongue laving her clit, pleasure bursting white across her vision. 

Michael made a choked sound, muscles contracting as Chris just kept _going_ , his mouth moving over her like he didn't want to stop, sucking lightly— 

The orgasm was both expected and really not, a cresting wave of bliss that had her shuddering against him, nerves tingling. Michael sucked in great lungfuls of air, conscious of the sweat springing up everywhere, the way she was fluttering around his fingers, how his mouth had gone softer, drawing her through the aftershocks with skill. 

Finally, he pulled back, setting his chin on her thigh and looking up at her, mouth shiny. His eyes were almost completely black, like that had turned him on as much as her. 

Michael just _stared_. 

"I might've needed to be more specific with the whole 'eat you out' thing," he mused, lips quirking again before he bent his head and nipped at her thigh. He kissed and licked and bit a path up her body, taking his time with it, exploring again. By the time he lapped at the underside of her breast—and when had _that_ become so sensitive?—she was clutching at his shoulders again, body responding like she hadn't just had one of the five best orgasms of her life. 

Granted, it wasn't a terribly long list, but still. 

When Chris' mouth settled over her nipple, rolling his tongue over it, sending fire careening through her, Michael decided that was _it_. She gripped the back of his neck and yanked him up, crashing her mouth against his. She licked the taste of herself from his mouth, pressing her body to his, feeling him hard against her hip. She wrapped a hand around him and stroked, getting a low groan and full body shiver. 

Pleased that she could elicit that kind of response, Michael pulled out of the kiss, breathing against his mouth as she worked her hand over him. "I believe you promised to fuck me," she said, low. 

Chris stilled her hand with a pained noise, like it was too much for him. He took a calming breath and pulled away so he could meet her eyes. "I believe I did," he agreed, his voice raspy. Then he shifted, hard cock pressing to her thigh. Michael reached down at the same time he did, their fingers colliding around him in a way that made him moan helplessly. They both lined him up against her wetness, Chris pulling out of the kiss with a gasp as he sank inside her.

Michael arched and made some kind of wanting noise as he thrust inside—it had been long enough that she'd forgotten the visceral pleasure of this, being so full—wrapping her legs around him and squeezing. 

And then he _stopped_ , panting against her mouth as he trembled against her. 

Michael clenched around him deliberately and Chris dropped his head to her shoulder, breathing out a broken, " _Fuck_."

"Yeah," she agreed, tilting her hips up, urging him on. 

Chris pulled back and thrust into her, _slowly_ , setting up a rhythm that was controlled and thorough and _driving her out of her mind_. The pleasure skated along her nerves, washing over her as he moved, but she wanted more, harder, faster. 

Michael dug her heels into his ass, trying to convey that, but Chris ignored it, taking her mouth again, sucking on her tongue in time to his thrusts. He didn't react when her nails bit into his shoulders, Michael clawing at him, trying to get more. 

Okay. Enough. 

Michael took a breath and levered them over, rolling him until he was on his back, sinking down on him a little further, pleased moan caught in her throat. 

Chris looked up at her, eyes half-dazed. "Not working for you?"

"This," she grunted, planting her hands on his chest and shifting herself up, then dropping back down onto him. 

Chris cried out, the uncontrolled noise only adding to the ecstasy now lighting her up. _She_ made him sound like that. 

The rhythm Michael set up was quick and fierce, shoving herself down onto him, sweat trickling down her body. Chris _stared_ up at her, like she was some kind of vision, and a dim part of her mind wondered what this must look like, Michael fucking herself down onto him with abandon, but her mind was so soaked with _yes_ that she couldn't bother following it. 

When Chris started shaking underneath her, he grabbed her hips and sat up, abs flexing underneath her hands. He took her mouth, wrapping his arms around her to help raise her up, then pull her back down. It made everything tighter, hotter, their sweat slicking between them. Michael could smell _them_ now, could hear the sweaty slap of skin on skin, the grunts of effort, what had faintly embarrassed her with others now only seeming _hotter than a blue hypergiant_. 

She could feel it when Chris started to lose control, his muscles all trembling at once. He pressed his fingers between them, finding her clit again, delicate circles completely at odds with how she was still moving on him. It was that discrepancy that did it, light fingertips over her clit sending her _flying_ , coming again with a shout. 

Chris moaned into her neck and bucked against her, hands gripping tight as he came in a few long pulses. Still panting, Michael ran a soothing hand through his hair, holding him close, feeling some vulnerability in him, even though she didn't understand why or how. 

After long moments just resting against each other, he sucked in a breath, looking up at her, eyes glittering with _something_. Not knowing what else to do with this _feeling_ , Michael pressed their mouths together; he returned the kiss, a striking gentleness there. 

He soon started to soften, so she levered herself off of him, collapsing by his side with a satisfied exhale. Michael drifted as her breath slowed, riding the high of intensely good sex. She marveled that her body could feel like this. And with someone she'd just met. 

Was _this_ why Tilly was always going on about casual sex? Maybe 'fun' actually meant 'mindblowing orgasms that will make you change the way you think of sex.' In which case, Michael was a little miffed she hadn't clarified. 

Chris would probably have something to say about communication there. 

Eventually, he nudged her. Michael made a negative noise, but he did it again. "Come on, get under." 

Michael finally realized he wanted her to get under the covers. She made another negative noise. "I'm never moving again."

Chris snorted, amused, and then tugged the covers from underneath her, covering them both. "Don't want you to get cold," he murmured, settling in beside her, one arm draping over her waist. 

Michael felt like she'd never be cold again. 

***

She woke to an empty bed. She felt the sheets beside her—vaguely warm—so he'd been gone for only a little while. She turned her senses outward, listening, but there was only silence in the suite. He wasn't here. 

She didn't know the proper etiquette for these kinds of things. Was he giving her the chance to sneak out without making a scene? He didn't seem like the type, but one never knew. 

As she was puzzling over what to do, she heard the outer door open. It was a mere moment before Chris appeared in the bedroom doorway. He spotted that she was awake and went a little apologetic. "Ah, damn, I had hoped to get back before you woke up."

Michael sat up, gathering the sheets around herself. He was fully dressed, she was naked, and she still had no idea how this was supposed to go. "Oh?"

He moved to the bed, sitting beside her. "My bad, sorry." He leaned down for a kiss, his hand cradling her jaw, warm and intimate. She fell into it, kissing him back, heat sweeping through her. 

When he broke the kiss, he didn't pull away, hand dropping to her arm, idly stroking there. "I got breakfast. I didn't know what you like, so I got one of everything. It's kind of ridiculous."

Michael shivered, the random patterns he was stroking into her skin sparking along her nerve endings, waking her up. It didn't even seem intentional, just touch for the sake of touch. 

She looked up at him, taking in his morning stubble, the line of his shoulders under his sweater, surprised to find _want_ echoing through her again. She'd assumed all that was left was some kind of awkward exit. But maybe not. 

Michael leaned into his touch and licked her lips. "Will it keep?"

Chris' pupils dilated, suddenly breathless. "Well, now I really don't care."

Michael grinned just as he lunged forward, taking her mouth, this kiss with intent. She licked into his mouth as she pulled him close, already tugging at his sweater. 

Not a bad way to start the day. 

***

After, both the sex and breakfast—the eggs were a congealed mess, but the pastries and fruit were fine—Michael took a shower, washing all the evidence of their activities off her. It felt good to be clean...so why was she melancholy?

She put her civilian clothes back on, thinking of her small quarters here. At this point, she really needed to change. 

Chris was watching the stars as she exited the bathroom, all dressed. Like none of this had ever happened. He looked over at her, his lips quirking in pleasure, as if seeing her were a good thing, in and of itself. 

Michael smiled back. She hadn't even known him for a day, but she felt like she knew him. 

She _liked_ him. 

She didn't want to say goodbye. 

Chris moved toward her, Michael trying to figure out what to say. What _did_ you say? 'I had fun?' 'Thanks for the sex?' Tilly would probably know...but her suggestions would also probably embarrass Michael for all eternity and besides, she wasn't here. 

But Chris was. He pulled her close, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth, slow and searching. His arms were warm around her. 

Michael relaxed into him, letting herself get lost in the kiss. Words were hard, but she could do this, she could kiss him with all the _feeling_ pulsing inside her and let him decide what to do with it. 

Eventually he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed. Then he opened them, smiling a little, like he was urging himself on. "You know, I realized. I never asked how long you're here." 

Michael's heart rate picked up, something inside her going shaky. "I leave tomorrow afternoon."

Chris nodded. "I have to leave a little before you, but we could...spend the rest of our time together," he offered, something like hope in his eyes. 

"To what end?" she asked, soft. 

Chris shrugged. "I like you."

"I feel the same."

He shrugged again. "Then it can be that simple."

Michael considered. She felt satisfied, but mildly shaken, like something had cracked open within her, fresh and new. And she knew it was partly because of him, of who he was, even if she didn't know him all that well. Part of her didn't want to let that feeling go. Another part thought that was exactly why she should. 

She tried to imagine herself saying no, walking out, going back to her previous plans of research and reading. It didn't hold the appeal it once did. 

"We could do that," she said, voice wavering only a little. 

Chris pressed his fingers to her cheek, reverent. "Yeah?"

Michael nodded, turning to kiss his hand. Then she smiled, wry. "But I will need to go get a change of clothes."

Chris laughed and pulled away. 

***

Michael just brought her whole bag back to his place. That way, she'd never have to leave. If she didn't want. 

The thought made her shiver. 

Apparently, when she went for casual sex, she _went_ for it. She supposed that was a good thing to know about herself. 

Chris took in her bag with a small smile, but he didn't comment. "They're playing a movie in one of the theaters, an old Earth film. It might be fun," he offered, no pressure. 

Michael smiled. "Sounds good."

***

As soon as they took their seats, Chris raised the divider between them, arm moving around her, pulling her to him. She relaxed into his chest, enjoying the closeness. People were rarely this tactile with her. She'd always assumed she gave off some 'don't touch me' vibe, likely a result of her Vulcan upbringing. Touch was a very personal thing on Vulcan. 

Chris didn't seem to sense it at all. He touched her all the time—innocent, affectionate, nothing sexual...though her body didn't seem to understand that, her ever-present arousal thoroughly distracting. It was like her mind knew how he _could_ touch her, how he could make her body sing...and was connecting that to everything he did. 

The movie seemed to be a comedy—something about improbably-dressed pseudo-scientists trapping ghosts, the crowd around them laughing at intervals—though Michael paid only half a mind to it, instead focused on where she and Chris touched, the little circles his fingers traced over her arm, the way his chest rose and fell against her, the vibrations when he laughed, rich and low. 

She didn't know if she'd ever been this physically attracted to anyone. The base part of her wanted to turn and climb on top of him right here. The sensible part of her was, thankfully, overriding that. 

Was this what people felt all the time? Was this why they'd get into such foolish situations? It was still illogical, but it was starting to make a little more sense. 

When the lights came up Michael looked at Chris, who smiled down at her. "What'd you think?"

"I think we should go back to your quarters," she said seriously. 

Chris took her in, his eyes widening. He tossed a look to the screen, then back to her. "It was a comedy."

***

Michael was barely in the door before she turned, reaching for Chris, pulling him close. He groaned as they kissed, arms tight around her. 

They stumbled back, locked together, trading deep, exploratory kisses. Michael made a sound when her back hit the wall, right next to the bay windows overlooking the stars. That would do. 

Chris trailed his mouth down her chin to her neck, biting lightly. "I can't believe _Ghostbusters_ got you all hot."

"Yes, it was definitely the movie." Michael rubbed herself against him, clocking how he was already hard. It sent sparks igniting under her skin, all the clothes in the way an irritation. 

Michael stepped back a little. "Get naked," she ordered, shoving her pants and panties down, pulling her long tunic up. 

When she looked back up, Chris was staring at her, eyes overcome with lust. 

Michael grabbed at his shirt and pulled him close again, kissing him. It seemed to shake him out of it. He broke the kiss on an exhale, pulling back to stare at her. "Are you—"

Chris pressed a hand between her legs, making a surprised noise at how wet she was, slick and ready. His fingers sent heat _zinging_ through her, pleasure spiraling outward, Michael making a low, wanting sound in response. His fingers slipped through her wetness and pressed _in_ , so close to what she wanted. 

"Really?" Chris asked, moving close, a satisfied note to it. His fingers pumped into her rhythmically, already stoking the tension within. 

"You keep touching me," she gasped, almost accusing, shifting her hips against his hand, trying to catch the wave that would tip her over. She gripped his arms, grunting: "More."

Chris pulled his fingers out of her, Michael moaning at it, but then he fumbled with his own pants and stepped between her legs, hands moving to her hips. "This is gonna be quick," he warned, picking her up and bracing her against the wall. 

" _Yes_ ," she breathed, wrapping her legs around him and bracing herself. 

He fumbled between them and unceremoniously slid inside her...and then Michael couldn't breathe at all. 

Chris fucked her like that, up against the wall, both of them still mostly clothed. He thrust into her ruthlessly, Michael crying out every time he hit the spot she liked, hanging onto his shoulders as the pleasure arced through her. It was fast and hard, exactly what she wanted. It didn't take long until her climax burst through her, body squeezing tight around him, Chris groaning into her neck as he came. 

They stayed like that for a few moments, finding each other's mouths again, before Chris pulled out and eased her back to the floor. Michael dropped her forehead to his chest, drowsy and sated. 

He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her close, chuckling warm and amused. "Well, aren't you full of surprises," he rumbled into her ear, making her shiver. 

Michael looked up, _heat_ building again. She was nowhere near done with him. "Bed now."

***

Eventually, they had to venture out for dinner. They found a different restaurant to try, this one more of a sit-down place, though it was as busy as the bar had been. Chris got them a table and they ordered...and then Michael was staring across at him, boggling at the difference twenty-four hours could make. He was no longer a compelling stranger, admired from afar. He was Chris, the honorable man whose touch made her mindless with desire like no one else ever had. 

Chris seemed to clock her mood, smiling a little. "What?"

Michael shook herself out of her thoughts. "I'm glad we met," she said, meditative. And she was. On some level, Tilly had been right. She'd...forgotten what it was like, to allow herself to feel good. To allow someone else to make her feel good. 

He inclined his head. "I agree." He considered it for a moment, that smile still hovering. "Do you think we would have, if not for the bar fight?"

"No," she said slowly, feeling the truth of it. "You were turning people away all night."

"Because they just wanted a quick, anonymous tumble," he said, half-defensive. 

Michael huffed a laugh. "And I didn't?"

Chris studied her, shaking his head a little. "It feels different with you."

A _pulse_ went through Michael at that, Chris' expression echoing something she'd sensed within herself. This _did_ feel different than any of her other casual relationships, though Michael couldn't pinpoint why. "It does," she agreed, not hiding how lost she was to explain that. 

Chris tilted his head, accepting that, and Michael marveled a little at how well she could read him, nonverbal communication so effortless between them. She didn't understand any of this...but it felt good and she wasn't willing to look beyond that. 

The waiter brought their food and they both dug in, Michael still considering it all. Eventually she looked up, asking a question that had been nagging at her since she first saw him:

"If you weren't looking for companionship, why did you go to the bar last night? If you just wanted a drink, you had that in your quarters."

Chris finished chewing, considering it. "You talked about the weight of people's expectations...I think I just wanted to be alone in a crowd. And to have that be okay."

Michael studied him, frowning. "I don't understand."

"To be honest, neither do I." His gaze turned inward for a moment, contemplative. "I've struggled with myself in recent times. I suppose I wanted a reprieve from...me."

Michael nodded in understanding. "That, I get."

Chris crooked a weary smile at her. "It's all a process. Or so I've been told."

Michael inclined her head. She was about to continue when a flash of movement caught her eye. An Acamarian moved by, something about his carriage...off. 

Chris turned to look, catching sight of him just as the Acamarian brushed by a woman's jacket, leaving a powdery glint behind, one that faded as they watched. 

Surveillance dust. Almost impossible to detect except at activation. 

Chris was out of his seat instantly, striding to the Acamarian and clamping one strong hand down on his shoulder. 

Seeing that he had that situation in hand, Michael went to the bar, gesturing to a bartender. "Get whoever's in charge out here."

The bartender took one look at her expression and hurried off. 

As Michael waited, Chris finally returned. "Sorry, had to hand him off to Starbase Security."

Michael frowned. "Why are you apologizing?"

Before he could answer, the manager approached, concern clear in her gray eyes. "I'm running the night shift. Is everything all right?"

Michael turned to her. "At least one Acamarian has been planting surveillance dust on your guests. You'll need to review all your footage and provide it to Security so they can alert any others. It's unclear whether it's just petty crime or rises to espionage, but you should expect to be in touch with Starfleet."

The manager's eyes widened, not what she expected to hear. She nodded, quick and intent. "I'll arrange it." She hurried off, clearly worried, Michael and Chris forgotten.

Michael turned back to Chris, finding him staring at her, almost awed. "What?" she asked.

His eyes darkened. "We should go back to my quarters now."

***

Chris pushed her back on the bed, tugging her skirt up as he crawled after her. He groaned when he found she wore no underwear, hot eyes looking up at her. 

"They just get in the way," Michael said, reaching for him. 

He dodged her, smirking a little. "Bless your priorities." Then he bent his head, getting his mouth on her, fluttering his tongue. 

Michael gripped his hair and made some unidentifiable noise as he settled in and went to work. 

Really, bless _his_ priorities. 

***

Michael stirred awake, naked and still a little sore, already anticipating getting her hands on Chris again. It was decadent, indulgent...and she didn't want it to end. 

That thought woke her fully. She had to leave today. They both did. 

Michael turned to look at him, lying on his side facing her, expression relaxed in sleep. The sheets had slipped down in the night, leaving his chest bare, and her eyes traced over him, taking in the dip of muscle she'd so thoroughly explored, heat building within her. 

When she returned to his face, he was watching her, an amused glint there. "Good morning," he rumbled, voice rough with disuse. 

"It could be," she murmured, sliding over. 

Chris laughed. 

***

After they had sex—rocking together, sleepy and soft, the orgasm spreading through her thick like honey—Michael showered, once again washing away the two of them. 

But this time, it was a much more permanent separation. She was surprised by how much she regretted that. This had been an unexpected bubble of good feeling and while she knew it could never last, wrapping herself in it had been more satisfying than she ever would have thought. 

Michael dressed quickly, moving out to join Chris, once again staring at the stars. She stopped by his side, taking in the endless wonder of space. 

"The final frontier," he murmured, echoing her own thoughts. 

Michael smiled and moved into his arms, leaning up to kiss him, light. Then she pulled back, still staying close. "Thank you. I needed this. I didn't realize how much."

Chris nodded, like he understood that on some deep level. "A couple years back, there was a woman...it was complicated, but the whole thing got in my head. I think I retreated a little after that." Chris frowned, a tinge of regret to the crease between his eyes. Then he refocused on her. "But something about you...you made me think of possibility. So thank _you_."

He leaned down to kiss her, his hands cradling her face. Michael fell into it, opening her mouth, letting herself get wrapped up in him for one more moment. 

Just one. 

Then she pulled back, smiling softly before stepping out of his arms. She didn't look back as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. There was no point in lingering. This was over. 

That was all it could ever be. 

***

Returning to the _Discovery_ felt different and the same at once. People nodded to her as she made her way to her quarters, just as they always did, but Michael noticed that she didn't feel quite so heavy anymore. 

She would have to tell Saru that he was right. She owed him that. 

Michael stepped into their quarters to find Tilly reading. She smiled as she looked up, bright and welcoming. "Hey, how was your leave?" she asked, setting her PADD aside like she was ready to settle in and hear all about it. 

Michael's mind went to what she'd done on her leave—Chris. All the many, _many_ ways they'd had sex flashed before her eyes. 

She opened her mouth to answer...and flushed. 

Delight lit Tilly's face. "No."

Michael moved to set her bag on her bunk, pushing through the heat flaring under her skin. She was being childish. "My leave was fine," she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. 

Tilly scrambled to sit on the edge of her bed, leaning forward like she could peer inside Michael's brain. "Michael Burnham, no one looks like that when something is just _fine_. You took my advice, didn't you?"

Michael looked back at her, not wanting to delve into it, but not wanting to deny it, either. Something about that felt...wrong. "I may have gotten to know someone."

The sound Tilly made hit a pitch Michael had never heard from her before. "Yes! Also, I love that we're using euphemisms. You can say you banged your brains out, Michael, it's not a commentary on your character."

Michael flushed again, that terminology more accurate than not. "I leave the rhetorical flourishes to you."

Tilly put a hand over her heart. "Oh, my god, I have never been more proud." Then her expression went predatory. "Now tell me everything. What's his name? How did you meet? Scale of one to ten, how good?" 

Michael's smile wavered as she thought of Chris, his easy humor, how he leapt in to help at every turn, the way he knew just how to touch her. A little tendril of loss curled through her—

But that was ridiculous. You couldn't lose what wasn't yours. It was a leave fling, nothing more. They had both known that.

She met Tilly's eyes again, the embarrassed heat now gone, that melancholy rising in its wake. "It's best left in the past."

Tilly looked at her askance. "What? If you had a good time, why do you seem bummed right now?"

Michael swallowed, shrugging a little. "I think you were right in a couple ways. I need to be looking forward."

***

Michael's pulse pounded in her ears as she waited for Spock and his colleagues from the _Enterprise_ to beam over. She hadn't spoken to her brother in years. She had no idea what to expect from him now, but whatever it was, she would approach him with dignity and calm. 

She blinked when the science officer finally materialized, definitely _not_ her brother. Looking for an explanation, her eyes swung to the captain—

And Michael _froze_. Chris stared back at her, something equally startled in his eyes. 

Just like that, Michael flushed, the memories of their leave crashing down on her from where she'd carefully locked them away—all slick skin and desperate kisses and more sex than she'd ever had in her life. 

Chris' eyes darkened, like he could read that in her and was just as affected. But he instantly redirected his attention toward Saru, introducing himself.

Captain Christopher Pike of the Starship _Enterprise_. 

Chris. 

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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